Prescient Memory
by GreatOverseer
Summary: "He never usually grabbed a dagger when he ventured up top, due to his natural intimidation factor. But then, he reflected, somewhere out there was someone who didn't care about natural intimidation factors, someone who only cared about death. More specifically, his death." Herobrine has a vision in which a mysterious hooded figure kills him and destroys his home.
1. Chapter 1

_"The distance between death and life is the distance between one man's hand and the other man's throat."_

-Ancient Minecraftian proverb

Herobrine awoke suddenly, heat cascading off him, in a panic. He knew he was in a room, in a bed, but that was all he knew because his eyes had suddenly become unresponsive to everything but the terrifying premonition flickering in his deepest prescient memory.

_Bodies lay everywhere. His citadel in the Nether was being overrun, finally, by enemies that he could do naught but watch and fear._

He sat up, jerked out from under the covers, ran in a blind panic to where he thought the door was, and hammered on it. Something fell with a thump right next to him. A book, judging by the fluttering noise it made as it hit the ground and bounced. Resisting a sudden wave of nausea, he felt around himself as the vision raged silently in his head.

_And now the very ceiling was falling. Herobrine looked up in fear as a ton of stone crashed down nearby. Fire everywhere. Must run. Must hide. Must survive._

Bookshelves! Damnation, he was in the wrong part of the room, and he shuffled on his knees to his right. He connected with a hard surface, rebounded off the surface, and fell on his back. To his horror, he felt his legs kicking around like a dying insect's, felt his vocal cords vibrate as a ragged animal noise poured out of his throat. Rolling left, he crawled in the fog of his vision away from the mysterious surface.

_A pigman was lifted off its feet and destroyed. Blood spurted everywhere. Herobrine, on the floor, covered his face and kept moving. He knew he needed to get somewhere, anywhere other than this suddenly hellish and miserable place that had been his home._

A small door swung open as he brushed past it, and slammed into his side. Pain blossomed, which along with the heat and sickness of prescience made the whole situation unbearable. But he knew suddenly that he was close to the exit. Beside his door was a collection of cupboards, he knew that. Using these cupboards, he could navigate out of his room and into the hallway, maybe call for help. He crawled frantically, got to his feet, and unsteadily fell on his knees again, shuffled to where he remembered the door to be, reached out, connected with metal. He turned the doorknob and staggered to his feet out into a hallway, his own familiar hallway that he was now blind to except in the future wreathed in flames.

_People ran past him as he thundered into the hall. The wooden planks were cracked and burning, the portraits on the walls missing, the floor patchy and opening to a great depth of molten rock and metal. On the wall, he noticed, someone had written "NOT GOOD." That was a bit of an understatement._

Herobrine ran into a wall, flew backwards, cried out, and heard the rustling of great wings as the Ender Dragon charged over and stood beside him. He felt the dragon's hot breath fluttering his hair, and felt a taloned hand grasp his shoulder and pull him into a sitting position against a wall.

"Uuh," he groaned, as his head nearly exploded in pain. The vision flickered, and then reappeared. He saw one last thing before the image winked out for good.

_He saw a hooded man with an axe raise it and bring it down. The axe split smoke, and came down hard on his neck._

"GggggggnnnnnnNNNOOOOOO!"

"You alright?" asked the Ender Dragon, reappearing as a blurry black shape with two blurry purple dots at the top.

"Does it even," growled Herobrine, "does it even FUCKING LOOK! like I'm alright?"

The Ender Dragon put a talon to its chin in thought.

"No," it said at last, "on second thought, it doesn't."

Herobrine moved a hand in front of his eyes, waved it. He could see the vague outline of the hand, but not the fingers or the little palm line things. Now what were those called?

"I just had a vision," he rasped, getting shakily to his feet. "A vision."

"What?"

"A vision," Herobrine repeated. "Aaagh, my head."

"You did have a lot of Nether Wart last night," the Ender Dragon said.

"I did?" Herobrine tried to think back on the previous night, but found it hard to remember. His head felt like it was stuffed with wool blocks. His ears were singing soprano.

"You did, as a matter of fact," the Ender Dragon informed him. "Two whole drams, all down the hatch at once. You should really know better, man, that stuff's an awareness-enhancing drug."

"I know, dammit," Herobrine muttered, walking into the kitchen. His vision improved slightly, and he could see that the Ender Dragon had left the table in a hurry. The cup of tea that had been in the Ender Dragon's favorite spot had been knocked over and broken in half. There were mugs in a chest by the furnace, and Herobrine took one plus a handful of cocoa beans. He pressed the beans by hand underneath a cascade of boiling water from the faucet, and sat down at the table with a full mug of coffee ready to drink. The Ender Dragon stumped into the room and sat down, its tail flipping up and over the back of the seat. They sat together in silence, sipping their beverages. The Ender Dragon had obtained a new cup from its stash. The tea on the menu was Earl Grey, and the tea's scent wafted to Herobrine and mingled peculiarly with the aroma of the fresh-ground coffee.

The Ender Dragon said finally, "So... your vision."

"My vision," Herobrine said grumpily.

"Your vision you just had," the Ender Dragon continued, "er, what did it involve? I just sent word to Notch, and he's chomping at the bit to hear my report."

"You sent word to Notch? Well, tell him it's none of his business." Herobrine placed the mug down on the table and sat farther back in the chair, arms crossed in front of him, biceps tense.

"Oho, I can't do that just like you say," the Ender Dragon said chidingly. "I'm sworn to report new developments to Notch. More'n my job's worth not to tell him."

"Your job," said Herobrine firmly, "is not worth... the hairs... on my arse."

There was a long silence.

"Well, maybe my friendship's worth a little more," said the Ender Dragon.

"We're not friends," snapped Herobrine crossly, "we're... business associates!"

"Business associates?" said the Ender Dragon. "We share a house, of course we're friends."

Herobrine sighed.

"Fine," he said. "But if Notch gets all worried and sends me to the middle of the bleeding desert again because he's 'worried for me' then-"

"He just wants to know," the Ender Dragon said.

"Oh."

Herobrine recounted his vision. He described in detail the scene that had played out before his eyes, how he had wanted so badly to run away from the citadel, and how the hooded... person had executed him. At this the Ender Dragon stopped him.

"A hooded man executed you?" he asked.

"Hooded _person_,"Herobrine clarified.

"Sorry, a hooded _person _executed you?"

"Yes," Herobrine said, sipping his coffee (which was still boiling in the powder-blue mug).

"I thought prescience was limited to bits where you were alive," the Ender Dragon prodded.

"Yes, well, the person took its time with the raising of the axe and everything," Herobrine replied. "I saw the executioner in detail. A rough woven cloak, with a hood as I've related, in a black or dark gray color. The face was hidden, but the person was about..." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, and winced as the hairs intruded on his Nether Wart-heightened sense of touch. "... five foot seven-and-a-quarter inches."

"Oh dear," the Ender Dragon murmured. It stood up, crossed to a window, and opened the drapes. Then it looked with those deep violet eyes out into the panorama of the Netherscape, across the ocean of lava, towards a cluster of mushrooms on a small rock pinnacle five miles away.

"A lot of people are about that size," the Ender Dragon said thoughtfully, studying the colossal fungi with a glazed look. "How would we know who it was who killed you?"

"We won't," Herobrine said.

He thought back to the axe. The head of the axe was iron, and nicked in a very specific pattern: two deep indents at the top, and seven smaller indents in the middle and bottom. The middle was made of jungle wood, which was strong enough to withstand a chopping blow by a diamond sword, but flexible enough to survive a long day out chopping things.

"Maybe if we looked for the murder weapon," he said. "But we can't now. Go on, send your report to Notch or Jeb or whoever's picking up all the mail these days."

"Alright," said the Ender Dragon. It walked out of the room, shutting the door behind itself with its tail.

Herobrine stood up himself, and walked to a closet in the corner of the kitchen. Opening the door, he selected the top chest, and from it a black silk tuxedo. The bottom chest gave him a pair of black silk pants and shiny turquoise diamond boots. He put these on. Then, almost without thinking, he reached for a small diamond dagger and slipped that into his shirt pocket.

Afterwards, as he strode out of the house and towards his personal nether portal connecting him to the Overworld, he wondered why he had grabbed the dagger. He never usually grabbed a dagger when he ventured up top, due to his natural intimidation factor. But then, he reflected, somewhere out there was someone who didn't care about natural intimidation factors, someone who only cared about death. More specifically, his death.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Nothing can beat a good party, but a good party can sure as Notch beat you."  
- Legendary club patron Zach Zachson_

The club was packed when he arrived. It was a lavish and opulent Overworld style club, that contained all the vices known to Minecraftians and Testificates alike. And Herobrine loved every minute of it.

He had come to play a game. It was a very old game, one that had existed for thousands of years and was still widely played. It was a card game called Kiimit, which was an old phrase that referred to a decision that had defeat and victory hanging on its outcome in equal measures. Kiimit was played simply:

First, each player needed a deck of twenty cards. These cards were made of thick sugarcane paper. The catch was this: players played Kiimit with their eyes closed. They could not say anything except a barked "Gaheel!" which was the next player's signal to make a move. The game operated in a counter-clockwise direction around a four-sided table. Each card was numbered from 1 to 20. After five moves per person, the players were asked to open their eyes and survey everyone's cards. Whoever had the largest number received that number in gold nuggets. The losing players got nothing, and could attempt to win again in the next round.

It was basic addition made into a game and played for gold nuggets. Herobrine usually won. But lately this club had wised up to his high intelligence, and so had had to wear special contacts to hide his marble-white eyes. Sometimes he even stuffed a bundle of wool into his shirt and pretended to be simply an overfed businessman out having a good time.

Tonight, however, he chose to wear blue contacts and shutter shades. And somewhere along the way (he did not quite remember how) he had obtained a dyed chicken-feather boa. His hands were encased in black leather riding gloves, and his diamond boots were shined to a starry gleam.

Herobrine surveyed the Kiimit table. The game needed two more players to start, and he slid into a seat next to a Testificate priest in pink robes.

"Playin' for keeps, Father?" he asked jovially. From a pocket, he withdrew a thin branch of sugarcane, hollowed it out, and stuffed it with a long thin clove of Nether Wart. He then snapped the affair in half and offered a half to the priest.

"No," said the priest. "Just out surveying the dens of low sin. Nothing to see here, my son."

He pushed the sugarcane away.

Herobrine struck the end of his sugarcane on the edge of the table, and watched as it glowed orange. Then he placed the unlit end in his mouth and took a pull. Nether Wart burned into a vaporous substance, pushing the smoke of the sugarcane out the end and away from the lungs. Herobrine inhaled the vapor, and felt himself slip slightly into prescience. A thin film over his vision showed a good outcome for him, but an equally good outcome for the man across from him. The man across from him had brown hair and gray eyes, wore a white suit, and was twiddling his thumbs nervously at the moment, although after five turns he would be crowing in jubilation.

A thin hybrid sat on Herobrine's opposite side, looked at his neighbors, and grinned sheepishly. Then he picked up a deck of cards and unpacked it. The game began, and Herobrine shut his eyes. The first card was dealt by a woman. The second was dealt by the hybrid. Herobrine blindly dealt a card from his stack, and called to the priest that he had done so. With his prescient memory, he saw the priest hunched over, crying in frustration at the end of the five rounds.

He played the four remaining rounds, then opened his eyes at the end. In front of him sat a healthy 70 points worth of cards. Looking at the man opposite him, he saw the total for that man was also 70. The priest next to him was crying. A fat balding man between the priest and the other victor was shaking slightly as he placed a piece of melon rind in the end of his clay pipe. The woman was looking around at everyone, her expression unreadable. The hybrid was sweating. Herobrine nodded to the man opposite.

"Looks like we tied," he said.

"Yeah," said the man. "So what, do we settle this with a duel or something?" He laughed.

Herobrine laughed as well, shook the other man's hand as 70 gold nuggets were given to each of them by the dealer.

"I think we'll get along well," he said.

Over a dozen more games were played. The priest left after the fifth ended in a loss, his fifth in a row. The fat balding man left in a huff just one round later. The hybrid broke out in a panic attack after he saw the measly 65 gold nuggets he had obtained in a rare victory, and had to be rushed to a nearby alchemist for treatment. The only mainstays were Herobrine, the man opposite, and the lady. So far, Herobrine and the man opposite were neck and neck in terms of nuggets. Herobrine's total was 359; his was 348. And at the end of every game they shook hands, laughed, exchanged jokes, and were generally good sports about everything.

But there had been a nagging voice at the back of Herobrine's mind, making up its own snide little theories. _Look at that guy, _the voice said. _Look at him. See those eyes? They could be harboring murder. _He pushed those thoughts away whenever they cropped up, but they always returned with more of the same.

"You two really are extremely fortunate," the woman said, as the twenty-seventh round ended in a tie. "Quite the lucky players. May I ask two got your instinct training?"

"New Budderton," Herobrine lied instantly.

"Obsidian Falls Kiimit Academy," the man opposite him said. "Graduated top of my class. Name's Cedric, by the way," he added to the lady. He reached out, took her hand, kissed it. The lady blushed.

"Well, Mister Cedric," the lady said, surprised.

"Hah, let's see whether you can still do that after another seven games," Herobrine chuckled.

At the bar later, he counted his nugget collection. 1,786 was his total. He sat beside Cedric, who was plying the lady with champagne. Herobrine thought back to the prescient nightmare that previous night. He dwelt on the executioner. The black rough fabric of the robe. The hidden face. The axe with its distinctive groove pattern. The jungle wood hilt of said axe. The hands.

He looked across at Cedric, then looked at Cedric's hands. He started. The hands of the executioner were thin and spidery, like Cedric's!

"Excuse me... Cedric?" he asked.

Cedric turned away from the lady, who was giggling.

"Yeah?"

"Would you happen to have an iron axe with a jungle wood hilt?" Herobrine inquired. "Nine notches in the head, two deeper than the rest and on the upper half?"

Cedric frowned.

"No," he said, "I don't believe I do. I'm a bow and arrow person, myself."

"Oh," said Herobrine. He felt embarrassed. He felt even more so as he finally took in the full height of Cedric: about six feet one inch tall. "Sorry. Thought I recognized you. Sorry." The attacker had been five feet seven and a half inches tall, not huge and stretched like this expert Kiimit player. Herobrine scolded himself for his newfound paranoia.

"'Tis okay," Cedric replied, smiling. He then turned back to the lady.

Herobrine walked out of the club. It was dusk already. He walked all the way back to the Nether portal, and stepped inside. He emerged on the other side, walked back into his house, and was greeted by a veritable explosion of confetti. Staggering back, Herobrine saw through the debris a disastrously huge and loud party. There was Jeb, up on a table, dancing his heart out; Notch chatting to several hybrid women; Dinnerbone upside down on the floor being... er, serviced by a scantily dressed maiden; and the Ender Dragon sipping tea in the middle of it all.

Herobrine flipped out.

"ENDER DRAGON, YOU MOTHERFUCKEEEEEEEEEEER!" he shouted. "WHAT THE HELL ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE DOING HERE?!"

The Ender Dragon looked over at Herobrine, and its eyes grew wide with panic.

"Didn't you hear, Herobrine?"

"No," said Herobrine, "because I was up on the Overworld playing Kiimit all day, you INSUFFERABLE BUFFOON!"

"But it's Jeb's birthday!" the Ender Dragon shouted. "Come on, man! Do it for Jeb! Join us!" He waved his hand at the party. "We're having a blast here!"

"FINE!" Herobrine roared, stomping into the disaster area.

A half hour later he would become raucously drunk and do a backwards somersault off the ceiling. And then he had another vision.


End file.
